Read Spice & Wolf III for Free Online

it was easy to spot fish swimming in huge barrels of freshwater, not unlike the ones Amati had been hauling the previous day.
    Just as Holo was unable to hide her excitement when faced with a line of eateries, Lawrence’s pulse could not help but quicken when he saw the vast array of goods in the marketplace.
    How much profit could one make transporting this good to that town? This other commodity was so plentiful that there must be a surplus of it in that location—would the price be lower? Such thoughts chased each other through Lawrence’s mind.
    When he was just starting out as a merchant, Lawrence had no sense of what was a favorable price for a good, so he wandered about aimlessly without knowing what to do—but now he could discern all kinds of things.
    Once a merchant fully grasped this intricate web of commodities, he became like an alchemist, transmuting lead into gold.
    Lawrence felt giddy at the power this notion afforded him until he remembered his failure in Ruvinheigen, which he chuckled at, chagrined.
    Turning one’s eyes to avarice made it all the more easy to stumble, after all.
    He took a breath to calm himself, grasping the reins and heading into the center of the marketplace. The stall he finally arrived at was already well into its business day, like all the others. The shop’s owner was just a year removed from Lawrence and had also started out as a traveling merchant. The fact that he had become a proper wheat merchant—complete with stall, which despite its small size even had a proper roof—was generally attributed to the man’s good fortune. He had even adopted the squarish facial hair style that was common in the region.
    Said wheat merchant—Mark Cole—was momentarily surprised upon seeing Lawrence, but he immediately composed himself and raised a hand in greeting, smiling.
    The other merchant that Mark dealt with turned to regard Lawrence as well, nodding in greeting. One never knew when he might encounter someone who could become a business partner, so Lawrence flashed his best merchant’s smile and gestured at them to by all means please continue their conversation.
    “Le, spandi amirto. Vanderji.”
    “Ha-ha. Pireji. Bao!”
    Evidently their exchange was just ending; the man spoke to Mark in a language Lawrence didn’t understand and then took his leave. Naturally, Lawrence did not forget to give the man another professional smile as he left.
    He committed the man’s face to memory in case they were to meet again in some other town.
    These were the tiny interactions that accumulated over time, eventually turning into profit.
    The merchant—who was probably from somewhere in the northlands—disappeared into the crowds, and Lawrence finally descended from his wagon.
    “I guess I interrupted your business.”'
    “Hardly! He was just talking my ear off about how grateful he was to the god of Pitra Mountain. You saved me,” said Mark, rolling up a sheet of parchment as he sat atop a wooden chest. He smiled at the tedium of the man’s conversation.
    Mark, like Lawrence, was a member of the Rowen Trade Guild. Their acquaintance was the result of showing up every year in the same marketplace to trade, and the two had known each other since the very beginning of their respective careers. They could easily skip the usual formalities.
    “If I'd known better, I wouldn’t have bothered learning their language. They’re not bad men, but once they figure out you can understand them, you’ll never hear the end of how great their god is.”
    “Might be that a local deity’s still better than a god who never leaves the shrine except when they spy a flash of gold, eh?” Lawrence said.
    Mark laughed, tapping his own head with the now rolled-up parchment. “You’re not lying! And they say harvest gods are all beautiful women.”
    Holo’s face appeared in Lawrence’s mind. He nodded and grinned but of course did not say what sprang to mind: But they have terrible